


Bad for the Rest

by felinefelicitations



Series: Ties That Bind [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Food, Feeding, God Fic, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Literal Sleeping Together, Multi, They love each other so much, fighting & hope, it's fucking sad, look idk man i wrote this and cried the entire time, mild violence, modern but the game still happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefelicitations/pseuds/felinefelicitations
Summary: "Ares, where ya been, man?" Dionysus asks, Ares pressing his face a second against his pulse before the hug breaks, and oh Dionysus still does not much like that, never has--but it's a little thing, and it makes that smirk fade into a smile that's just a hair less sharp, because the thing about Ares is he's a physical thing, always has been."A war," Ares says, leaning against the counter."How'd it go?" Dionysus grabs an apple from the counter, tosses it to Ares. "How's brunch sound?""Ongoing," Ares says, catching the apple.
Relationships: Aphrodite/Ares (Hades Video Game), Ares & Apollo, Ares & Hermes (Hades Video Game), Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Ties That Bind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137266
Comments: 60
Kudos: 98





	Bad for the Rest

**Author's Note:**

> this fucking wrecked me, it's extremely sad even if there is a lot of goddamn fight and hope involved. i'm sorry, fox, i just set out to write a dio/ares and ended up with this. shoutout 2 the cru for yelling and then crying with me when we all realized where this was headed. 
> 
> i know every ares fan saw [ voice actor's video,](https://twitter.com/ahoymehearties/status/1338890639547789315?s=20) and the mention of perpetual war just crawled in the back of my head and i've got a lot of fucking thoughts about that apparently, and how that's pretty fucked up in a lot of ways and boy, what a monkey's paw of a wish, perpetual war, would be for a war god

There's someone in his home, which isn't unusual, not really. That's the whole point of a home, have people in it, except, of course, it's one in the afternoon and all the guests have been cleared out.

Dionysus sighs as he makes his way towards the kitchen. Silent, of course.

The question is going to be if he just missed showing someone out--an honest mistake, easy, no harm no foul, just _get out_ now, thanks, great time, nice to see you, always nice to see you, _get out_ \--or not. If not, well. Breaking into someone's home is deeply unchill, horribly so, and if Dionysus can't stand anything, it's having the mood ruined. It takes a lot of work, keeping his home ( _his_ ) relaxing.

They're in the fridge, whoever they are, which leans it more towards missed guest (unfortunate), and hidden by the fridge door.

"Hey," Dionysus says, lazy, slow, easy, "Funny thing, I don't recall letting anybody in."

They stand up and _oh_. Red eyes and white hair and a smirk, the brattiest smirk Dionysus still, to this day, has ever seen, and he has seen a _lot_ of days.

"Do you even have any food?" Ares asks as he shuts the fridge, which no, of course not. There's delivery these days, and anything Dionysus wants he can have brought or he can go out to get or, if he's feeling particularly fun, have brought and then cooked here by other people.

Dionysus grins, pulls Ares into a hug because he knows it's the sort of thing Ares likes; brat or not, Dionysus will always give Ares what he likes. Within reason. Mostly.

"Ares, where ya been, man?" Dionysus asks, Ares pressing his face a second against his pulse before the hug breaks, and oh Dionysus still does not much like that, never has--but it's a little thing, and it makes that smirk fade into a smile that's just a hair less sharp, because the thing about Ares is he's a physical thing, always has been.

"A war," Ares says, leaning against the counter.

"How'd it go?" Dionysus grabs an apple from the counter, tosses it to Ares. "How's brunch sound?"

"Ongoing," Ares says, catching the apple. “Fine.”

"I know just the place, you'll love it. Let's go, it's just down the street," and Dionysus takes him by the wrist, pulls him along for the front door. "Which war, there's war everywhere these days, it's a good time for you, isn't it? Good for your skin."

"Is it?" Ares asks, leaving the apple on the counter and Dionysus is not even bothered a _little_ that Ares has already fallen into one and two word answers, because that smile is turning to a smirk, and those red wolf eyes are watching sharp as ever for the slightest bit of annoyance and Dionysus? Dionysus definitely does not do annoyed, it's distinctly unchill.

Besides, Ares only just got here.

Dionysus keeps his grip relaxed, slips into a pair of shoes. He gets his wallet and keys and considers a jacket, dismisses it, and ignores the way Ares' presence warps the silence--turns it sharp, sharper, the violence that hums just under the surface, that feel of dozens of eyes and legions and promise of pain and ruin. Does not flinch, just looks at him and smiles, lazy, and then quick—

\--taps Ares on the nose with a knuckle.

Ares startles; the tension shatters instead of erupts.

"Nope, no, not in my house." Dionysus laughs and opens the door. "I get it, you just got back, hard to switch gears isn't it? Come on, man, let's get brunch."

Ares smiles, adjusts a cuff.

"Apologies, Dionysus," he says, smooth, and follows Dionysus out.

**

It took Dionysus an embarrassingly long time to get used to Ares when he first got to Olympus. It took him even longer to figure him out. Was it late Rome? He can't remember, just knows it was well after the myth making was over.

"Bloody mary? Mimosa? This place has excellent mimosas."

"Whiskey," Ares says and Dionysus groans because it's predictable and boring and perfectly like Ares.

"Live a little," Dionysus says, and orders him a bloody mary and mimosa and, of course, whiskey. He orders more than that, too—omelettes, eggs benedict, french toast and cheese platters and, on a whim, whatever the chef's special is. Dionysus won't eat much, already ate, he just likes to have a full table, even if it won’t stay full long.

(War is a very, very hungry thing.)

Ares picks up the table knife, turning it in his hands, thumb running up the edge and Dionysus knows the knife will probably cut someone later, because butter knives really aren't meant to be sharp at all. If Aphrodite were here, she could get away with reproval, but Dionysus isn't her kind of beast, and he doesn't work with Ares her way.

"So, tell me about your ongoing war," Dionysus asks.

"I couldn't possibly," Ares says, smiling slight, eyes down. "I do appreciate you asking."

"Come on, no need to be like that."

"You will find it dull," Ares says, thumb testing the edge of the knife.

Dionysus wants to take it from him; the hair on his arms is standing on end, Ares next to him with a knife and Dionysus with only a smile and good nature.

(Obviously that's not all Dionysus has.)

"Not when it's you, you know better than that," Dionysus says, grabbing the whiskey before Ares does so he'll either need to wait or try the other drinks. He grins as Ares' smile flickers, tries it because he won't go giving Ares subpar whiskey, not when Ares went to all the trouble to come _find_ him, to break into his home. "Tell me all about it, every gory detail."

Ares tries the bloody mary, nose wrinkling in distaste; Dionysus sets the whiskey in reach, takes the rejected drink that really isn't all that bad, and Ares smiles pleased again.

"If you insist," Ares says, still deferring, and Dionysus does _not_ consider grabbing the too sharp knife from him; Ares just got back, not even an hour yet, Dionysus can suppress irritation longer than _that_ because he is very much _not_ irritated at all by his favourite wolf.

(The only wolf he tolerates.)

"Sure do," Dionysus says, sprawling in his seat, leaving himself entirely open, eyes on Ares' face and not the knife in one hand.

It's play, what Ares does. Testing. Dionysus has no idea why it took him so long to figure out except, ha, Ares is insistent and aggressive and pushes as far as he can and when Dionysus was new on Olympus it was a _lot_ to try and take in with everything else.

(Ares only pushes with the ones he likes, and that's a thing that took Dionysus the longest to figure out of all. Constantinople, all that wealth, that gem of a city Ares took such joy in tearing down a sacrifice.)

"Well," Ares starts, smile turning genuine. Dionysus makes sure his glass stays full as Ares starts to talk, to loosen up, to give that second bit of ground over, second bit of trust; the first was showing up, and Dionysus cannot _wait_ for Ares to give the rest. Ares' smile getting wider, lazier, that bit of teeth; Ares' eyes focusing on what he's recalling, Ares' grip tensing just a bit, and the hum in the air that causes at least three arguments to break out in hearing—

"Hey," Dionysus says, "love ya, Ares, but not here," and he touches Ares' wrist. "Reel it back a bit."

Ares, blinking, then that low chuckle.

"Of course," Ares says. "Apologies."

"No need for all that, just relax," and that third bit of ground--Ares doesn't stab him as Dionysus strokes Ares' pulse under his thumb, as Dionysus soothes and slips a little calm in his veins that makes Ares' pupils blow and him lick his lips.

Not even two hours this time.

"You were saying?" Dionysus asks, hand still on Ares' wrist.

(He'd feed him by hand but he thinks that's too soon, too fast, even if Ares is letting Dionysus get him hazy already; Dionysus _likes_ this brunch spot, wants to come back, keep things _relaxed_.)

"Nothing important," Ares says, deflecting again.

Dionysus' grip tightens just a hair faster than he can keep himself from reacting, irritation blooming; Ares, pupils blown, grins that bratty little smirk, and maybe Dionysus _should_ pin him to the table, force feed him and make him beg for it, nice brunch place be damned.

Dionysus lets go, finishes his drink.

"Everything all right, Dionysus?" Ares asks, just a little slurred, concern close enough to genuine it makes Dionysus want to claw his face.

" _Fantastic_ ," Dionysus says. “Finish your…” casts around, but the plates have, at some point, gone empty, and Ares is still smirking.

Dionysus takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out with a little chuckle.

“Dessert?” he asks.

“I couldn’t possibly,” Ares says; Dionysus flags down the waiter and gets one of every dessert on the menu, orders more whiskey, Ares slouching and chin in hand in his peripheral, turning the knife point down on the table while staring at an increasingly terrified waiter.

Dionysus kicks Ares under the table; Ares startles, the knife falls, and Dionysus grins at the waiter.

“Thanks, man,” Dionysus says, and then, low and sharper than he should--only _two hours_ , he cannot believe this, Ares is _better_ than this—”Behave.”

Ares blinks at him, then grins, wide and wolfish.

“Temper temper,” he tuts, picking the knife back up.

“Brat,” Dionysus says, and fills his own cup. His wine, the smell heady and soothing and exactly what he needs to get his cool back. “No, you can’t have any. I brought you to my favourite place, I thought you would be cool, and you’re scaring the staff.”

“I’ll finish telling you about the war,” Ares says.

“I don’t know, man,” Dionysus says, leaning back, taking a drink; Ares eyes follow the motion, licking his lips. Dionysus grins, just a little bit of teeth. “Didn’t you say it’s ongoing? Isn’t this more a victory drink?”

“Dionysus,” and oh, Dionysus certainly has missed that little plaintive note in Ares’ voice, the little downturn at the edge of his mouth, the tiniest hint of a pout. He likes that, very much, it is and has always been a _fantastic_ look on Ares, ever since the first time Dionysus caught a glimpse of it.

“Maybe if you can keep your cool,” Dionysus says, grabs the cherry as the sundae is put on the table, holds it out between two fingers. Watches that little pout bloom into a proper scowl because oh, Ares knows exactly how long it’s been too, doesn’t he? “No?”

Dionysus is pushing it; Ares still has a knife, it hasn’t been nearly long enough for this, and he might just might get stabbed but he doesn’t care--Ares has already gotten under his skin, when _was_ the last time Ares was in town, came to find him?

Too long, that’s when. All this war, all the time--good for the skin, bad for the rest.

Ares opens his mouth, leans forward, and Dionysus pounces on that little bit of given ground; slips the cherry in Ares’ mouth before Ares can take it between his teeth, presses his thumb down on Ares’ tongue and cups his jaw like he would a dog that should know better than to bite. Ares growls, low, doesn’t try to bite, doesn’t stab, but one hand is making a _ruin_ of the table cloth, dishes clinking as he twists, and there is so much fury in those pretty red eyes, perfect match to the flush darkening dark skin.

“Relax,” Dionysus purrs, slipping his thumb out, making sure to drag over Ares’ lip. “Eat some dessert.”

Runs his finger around the rim of Ares’ glass, whiskey turning to that divine wine that all the gods love so much, are so greedy for, but none quite so greedy as ever hungry War.

Dionysus saves the ‘good boy’ for later.

Ares chews and swallows the cherry, still scowling, still flushed, but he takes the wine and drinks.

Dionysus shifts in his seat, slips a shoe off, and rests a leg over Ares’ lap, because Ares is a physical thing. It doesn’t make the scowl entirely vanish, but it eases it, turns it to a sulk.

“Hey, hey, now, don’t act like that, babe.” Dionysus surveys the dishes laid out, grabs the slice of cake and puts it in front of Ares. “You know how it is, just defensive, I like this place, want to be able to come back, you get that, don’t you, Ares? We’re cool, yeah?”

Dionysus doesn’t need to ask--Ares is drinking his wine, relaxing in his seat at the physical contact, interested in the food; properly spoiled little prince that he is, creature comfort beast that he is--but he does because it makes Ares put on a pretty face, lets him pretend he’s not giving up ground. Makes him _behave_ , and really, Dionysus wishes he could tell his younger self all the tricks he’s gathered over the millennia because they could have been having fun so much sooner, him and Ares, way more than just good victory feasts.

Really had time to enjoy themselves.

“Of course,” Ares says, but only after he’s helped himself to the cake, to the wine, to the sundae, a hand under the table resting on Dionysus’ shin, thumb rubbing and thank the fates really, because it means he doesn’t have a hand to keep playing with that knife.

“Finish telling me about your indefinite war,” Dionysus says, and this time, he doesn’t stop the fights that spill out.

Ares always smiles so sweetly when he's talking about his passions, and who is Dionysus, really, to interrupt that when he can just enjoy the show?

It’s almost like the old feasts, like this.

**

It was definitely Constantinople, just after the fall, a victory feast that had Ares half feral and all joy and pushing at Dionysus, crowding his space, had Ares deflecting and making crass comments and trying to scare the other guests at the party but _only_ when Dionysus was watching, Ares trying to crawl under Dionysus' skin and Dionysus ready to tear his throat out to make some breathing room.

Ares, half feral and all joy, restless energy spilling everywhere, turning the feast sharp, pushing and pulling and trying to slip the atmosphere away from what Dionysus wanted; Ares, looking away, attention caught by who knows what, Dionysus doesn't remember. He remembers Aphrodite laughing in that little pause, that moment to grind his teeth.

"How cruel," she laughed. "And after he's laid another city in ruins for you."

"That's a good one, but really doubt he did it for anyone but himself." Dionysus watched Ares pace away--always a pace, never a prowl, but still confident. Assured. A different sort of beast from Dionysus, Aphrodite, and one Dionysus still felt after all this time would slip his control even if Dionysus drowned him in drunk. Still _exciting_ , still dangerous. "Don't see how I'm cruel when he's the one trying to kill the mood."

"Darling, Dionysus, have you really not realized? Goodness, no _wonder_ that well runs so deep."

Dionysus paused drinking, looked away from Ares roaming, found Aphrodite delighted.

"Here's a little advice, dear--you should act on all those naughty little urges you get when he comes back. Just one, see what happens. I'm sure you'll like it."

Dionysus laughed, didn't ask which urges, because Aphrodite would absolutely list them out.

(Dionysus knew which--the urge to grab Ares by the throat, the hair, and force him to his knees; the urge to drown him in drink, grab his mouth to shut him up; the urge to pin him down and bite his neck and mark him, teach him a bit of _respect_.

The urge to pounce.)

"Go on," she said, eyes sparkling. "He breaks as pretty as he smiles. Though I can't recommend it if you aren't willing to put up with the frankly obsessive loyalty after. Might be best to just let him down easy in that case."

Dionysus looked away, found Ares. Took a deep drink from his cup, watching the other god pace, watching him drink and smile slight and that edge, watching the fights spilling in his wake as he circled back to the couch Dionysus was at.

That very first pleased, bratty little smirk--the first Dionysus really noticed--as Ares settled back on the couch.

"It is quite a feast," Ares said, sighing pleased, too close. "Where is Aphrodite?"

Dionysus considered fights ruining his perfectly good party, considered the keen edge less madness and more savagery, considered the god next to him, too close, a god all hunger--for war, for blood, for wine, for touch.

"Must have needed a new drink," Dionysus said, grinning. "Say, Ares, we're friends, good pals, right?"

"I do enjoy the thought we are, yes."

"So why," Dionysus reached over and grabbed Ares' hair, knocking his laurels off in the process, twisting his fist tight and hearing that tiny hitch of breath, seeing Ares' pupils blow wide and his mouth part as Dionysus finally gave into the urge to yank and drag him half down, forcing Ares to choose between either getting off the couch and on his knees or staying in this awkward twist to look up at Dionysus. " _Why_ do you keep fucking up the mood, man? Huh? Didn't I say to lay off?"

The thing, was and is, is that in an actual one-on-one fight, Dionysus wouldn't beat Ares--Ares violence all the way to his core, Ares that feral, terrible survival instinct that screams _fight_ with every single ounce of his being once all the nobility is stripped back.

Dionysus expected he was going to get stabbed. Bitten. Snarled at.

Did not Ares, sliding off the couch, staring up at him with all that hunger and want, Ares letting Dionysus twist his hair to hurting.

Not Ares, licking his lips, then that awful, _exquisite_ bratty smile, red eyes bright, and going, "Why, Dionysus, this is rather unbecoming of a host, don't you think?"

Dionysus actually saw red, and not just Ares' eyes, growled and bared his teeth and didn't even remember to make it look a smile.

"Answer the question," Dionysus said, tugging Ares' head farther back. "And maybe I'll forgive you enough to give it to you. You _know_ I hate to lose my cool."

"I daren't to imagine what that looks like, if this is still col—"

It's a dirty trick, forcing someone from pleasant drunk to hangover, but Styx, was it satisfying to watch Ares flinch, watch Ares think to try to tug free of his grip too late as Dionysus cupped his throat with his other hand, squeezing.

See that flare of fury in his eyes.

Dionysus grinned at him, lazy.

"Spell it out, Ares, easy, yeah? You need something, I'm happy to help, we're such good mates, aren't we? Pals. Man, you had a fair bit to drink, didn't you, that hangover just can _not_ be feeling good for you."

Ares, flush starting to darken his skin.

"Come on," Dionysus purred.

"I already _asked_ ," Ares said, petulant and scowling.

"Use your words for me. Just the once."

Ares, tension coiling; Dionysus, expecting any moment the fury under his hands to break, pulse up and thrilled, delighted, when was the last time he'd felt this _excited_ about taking someone apart, starting with just forcing the words out? He couldn't remember, no wonder Aphrodite liked Ares so much, watching Ares tear himself apart, torn between asserting control again, violently, or getting what he _craved_.

"Come on, Ares, you can do it," and Dionysus taking the tiniest bit of pity because this was just so much fun, already; Dionysus soothing that pulse under his fingers with the barest drip of _calm_. "Plenty more of that, if you're good."

"I am going to kill you," Ares said, hands clenching, unclenching, still under Dionysus' hands. Eyes half closed.

"Let me take a guess, I feel like I got a read on you, just a bit, and you tell me if I'm wrong or not, yeah? You got all that pretty control, honestly, do not know _how_ you do it, but you're riding high and want an excuse to let it go, that sound right?"

"Yes."

"But the thing I don't _get_ is why me and not Aphrodite, she's done that for years, I know there's no way you're bored, and we both know my kind of peace ain't gonna last you, now is it? You tell me that, and you know what, we'll call your awful behaviour water under the bridge, see what we can do."

Ares, quiet, sullen.

Tense.

"If you're going to be that way, though," Dionysus shrugged. Let go, sat back, sprawled. He'd lose out, but he had a hunch not as much as whatever it was Ares wanted from him; a calculated gamble.

Dionysus has always liked playing with his treats.

"Manners," Ares snapped out, which Dionysus thought was about _him_ for half a second until Ares added, "Isn't that what you're always saying? Lack of good manners."

"Huh," Dionysus said.

"Never compare yourself to Aphrodite again," Ares added, still on his knees, a shimmer of fury around him, growl undercutting the words. "I would _never_ dare risk hurting her."

"Oh my sweet beating heart, you want to be a _brat_ ," Dionysus said, laughed as he realized, and watched Ares simmer and grind his teeth, but he was _right_. "You want to be a spoiled rotten prince, is that it?"

"You're a fool," Ares said, not disagreement, started to rise. Dionysus grabbed his wrist, and thank every verdant vine in his vineyards Ares wasn't expecting it or things might have played out different--but Ares wasn't expecting it, ended up tugged down, half falling into Dionysus' lap with a grunt, bristling again. Dionysus grabbed his chin in one hand, kissed his cheek, pulled his cup back from the aether.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Dionysus asked as Ares shifted on his lap, tense. Awkward, because Ares is a big man, big shoulders, but Dionysus had plenty of lap for him, just the angle he'd fallen was all weird. "Have a drink, just one, nice, since you were good," and maybe Dionysus tilted the cup a bit sudden, maybe he let Ares choke and sputter and it run down his chin, but that _flush_ , the tension relaxing as Ares realized he was going to get what he wanted after all; Dionysus has always enjoyed hearing someone choke.

"Say," Dionysus asked later, well after the party was over, stroking Ares' back as Ares dozed, "did you really do all that work with Constantinople for me?"

"You like wealth," Ares murmured. "It seemed a fitting gift."

**

It's not just being a brat, though it took a few centuries for Dionysus to realize that. A lot of centuries, when was it? New world--the _Americas_ now. Isn’t that where Zagreus is these days? Can’t remember, not very important.

"Want me to call Hermes up?" Dionysus asks as they leave, holding Ares’ wrist loose in one hand.

“No,” Ares says. Eyes half closed, not slouching but not quite perfect posture, tie a little loose, top button undone.

“What you want then? Where to?”

Used to be asking Ares what he wanted would take a day, more. Once, a week of back and forth, _that_ was a good time.

“Rest,” Ares says.

Now it’s a brunch and a token power struggle and, jeez, when _was_ the last time he saw Ares? They’re not--well, they are domestic, millennia will do that, but this doesn’t sit right, not really.

All that war; good for the skin, bad for the rest.

“Sure thing,” Dionysus says, keeps his grip loose, keeps soothing a pulse that very insistently would like to speed up, and walks them back to his place. “Find any new vultures? How’s the nature reserve doing?”

Ares starts talking--no new vultures, yes, the nature reserve is well, and Dionysus nudges him back towards bears and wolves and woodpeckers when he starts to roam towards war and logistics and engineering, thumb stroking his pulse as they walk. Orders more food on his phone, drops a message in the group chat on the elevator-- _when’s the last time you guys saw Ares?_ \--and taps Ares’ nose when he goes silent, starts to go _too many_ again.

Ares startles, blinks at him.

“Stop that,” he says, irritated.

“You stop drifting, you try that?” Dionysus asks. He lets go of Ares’ wrist to get the door to the penthouse open. “There’s a full moon, couple rooftop parties tonight, can do that later. Hermes would like that, if you change your mind.”

“Perhaps,” Ares says, and this time he takes his shoes off when he comes inside. Remembers to take his shoes off.

“Bath? Don’t think you’ve tried this place before,” knows he hasn’t, “it’s great, you’d like it.”

“If you’d like,” Ares says, pulling off his suit jacket; Dionysus grabs it from him before he drops it, frowning, and grabs Ares’ chin, checks his eyes, checks his pulse. Ares’ scowls, tries to pull back, and Dionysus digs his fingers in.

Ares stills.

“Bath or rest?” Dionysus asks.

“Options already? Dionysus, please.” Ares tries to pull back, again; Dionysus follows him, pinning him against the wall.

“Choose,” Dionysus growls, because it’s not about being a brat; it might have been, once, but that’s a long, long time ago now.

Ares, tense under his hand; Ares, grinding his teeth; Ares, a little more himself.

“Rest,” Ares spits out and Dionysus steps back, lets go. Smiles.

“Was that so hard, babe? Get all those clothes off, I’ll get you something to drink.”

**

It was the Americas, the new world, ridiculous name, nothing really new about it other than they’d never gone, it had always been right over there once the myths stopped being made, but mortals, they love a good name. New world, new wars--but that’s not what took Ares over there.

It was the vultures.

Ares was gone longer than he had been in ages, then one day Dionysus got home and there was Ares, in his foyer, with a jaguar.

A _live_ jaguar.

Ares, face lighting up. Ares, all manic too quick energy. Ares, eager and sharp and making the air shimmer and hum around him, like he’d forgotten how to _be_.

Ares, sloppy a way that he never once had ever been, in all the time Dionysus had known him.

“What the hell is that?” Dionysus asked.

“A jaguar,” Ares said. “They reminded me of you.”

“Look, Ares, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t have anywhere to put a jaguar,” Dionysus said, laughing. “It’ll eat the fauns.”

Ares, little flicker of a frown, then turning to scowl to petulance and Dionysus hadn’t even _done_ anything, really. Ares all the manic energy that really was more _Zagreus_ ’ deal, or maybe Hermes on a particularly bad day. Or what Dionysus slipped into mortals sometimes.

“You okay, man?” Dionysus asked, leaning down to inspect the jaguar lounging on the floor. It didn’t seem particularly bothered, but then, Dionysus has always done pretty well with big cats, if he says so himself. “And I’m talking about you, not this lovely lady. Maybe Aphrodite will want her.”

“Perhaps,” Ares said, still irked.

“And you? How are you?” Dionysus asked again, standing up.

“Fine,” Ares said, eyes sharp on Dionysus.

It was weird--Dionysus remembers it not because of the jaguar, but because he wasn’t _bothered_ by the one word answers, not like normal. Just… worried. None of them had heard from Ares while he was off exploring, doing whatever was going on over there, but they’d heard about the bloodshed.

“Yeah? Great, let’s get food in you, some wine.”

Remembers it because of later--Ares not _Ares_ , no control, no brattiness, just clawing and snapping and snarling until Dionysus pinned him down.

“Drink,” Dionysus spat, straddling his chest, forcing his mouth open. Ares tried to yank his head away, choked and sputtered on wine, before a little got down his throat and he drank, greedy.

The air went quiet, finally, for the first time since Dionysus walked in on him in the foyer. Dionysus let go of his jaw, pet his hair, let him drink and drink and drink.

(Dionysus did not used to calm his pulse all the time. He didn’t used to need to.)

“There you are,” Dionysus murmured, pulling the cup away. Ares blinked up at him, dazed but--Ares. A little control back, not all manic energy that he never really was before. “Hey, Ares, how ya doing, man?”

Ares was _savage_ , not _manic_. There’s a difference. Dionysus knows it well.

(Ares wouldn’t risk hurting Aphrodite.)

“Dionysus,” Ares murmured. “When did I get here?”

**

It’s easier, putting Ares under now. Dionysus knows how to do it better, to start; they all do, really, but Dionysus gets the most practice. He strokes Ares’ hair, keeps him drowned in drunk so deep he won’t dream, leaned back against pillows and blankets over them both. Ares’ breath is even and soft as he sleeps against Dionysus’ chest. Dionysus strokes his hair and looks for things to do, because the nap will help, a little, but good old fashioned fun will help more.

Fortunately, it’s a good era for fun.

There’s dates in the group chat, the most recent a decade back. Which isn’t… well, it’s not great, that’s for sure, and Dionysus debates a bit--he tries, always, to give Ares’ choices when he does show up. Dionysus likes to give choices, likes to let people choose, and if he’s honest, he’s still not necessarily great at this bit where he puts someone back together, but they don’t have anyone else to do it--Apollo’s not that kind of doctor, has his hands full enough even if he’s sympathetic, even if they all know he misses being able to argue with Ares; Hermes takes apart and transcends boundaries but he’s not able to slip in heads as much as he might want to; and Aphrodite. Well.

It’s Dionysus’ doorstep that Ares shows up on, even if Aphrodite would be, _is_ , better at this.

(They all of them know what happened with Thanatos, eventually; Dionysus will take being not great at this and keeping his friend over that, thanks.)

 _He’s at my place_ Dionysus sends.

He pets Ares’ hair, listens to him breathe, debates inviting them.

Just some old fashioned fun--it helps the best.

Ares can forgive him later.

**

It was the empires that really made them act. Empires have always been hungry things.

It was Aphrodite, showing up on Dionysus’ doorstep, elegance and grace as ever.

“‘Dite, always a pleasure, come in, come in,” Dionysus said, swept her inside and out of the snow and cold, brought her to whatever party he was holding, something warm, something soft, plenty of mortals. Took her coat, got her a drink, got her settled somewhere the party was just background noise, got them some privacy.

“Thank you, darling,” she said. “You do always know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

“Hey now, it’s the least I can do,” Dionysus said as he settled in the armchair across from hers. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Mmm, _well_ , I was just wondering if you’ve happened to see Ares lately.”

“Can’t say I have, not recently. Think Hermes saw him last? Somewhere in, where’d he say? India?”

“Mm,” Aphrodite hummed, a little pout. “I’m just a teensy bit worried is all, darling, you know how he’s _been_ lately.”

“Yeah,” Dionysus said with a laugh, an attempt at a laugh; they both went quiet, both sipped at their drinks, distinctly unchill, but that was the thing really--things had stopped being _chill_ around when Thanatos stopped manifesting a few years back. Oh, he was still around, obviously, mortals kept dying, souls were still going where they needed to, but at some point he just… went thin. Got lost, forgot how to do the whole _self_ thing.

Ares hadn’t taken it well. Still wasn’t taking it well.

“Do you think..?” Dionysus trailed off; he didn’t want to think about it, really, that maybe the same might happen to Ares. But it didn’t much matter what he _wanted_ to think about, with Aphrodite there in front of him. Mortals were very good at war, getting better all the time, having much more of it, and it was turning as inevitable as dying, the same _scale_ as dying.

“I think I have an idea I would like to try,” Aphrodite said, very firm, very steel--always so steel, Aphrodite. So sure, the surest of them all even when really, at the end of the day, she was the one who had the most reason to doubt. “And he’s going to hate it and you’re probably going to get hurt and we’ll need Hermes and Apollo, too.”

“Sounds like old times,” Dionysus said, grinning. “Let’s try it.”

**

 _He’s sleeping, door’s open_ , Dionysus adds, which is lucky, because the thing about Hermes is he’s _quick_ , and the invitation is barely five minutes old when he hears the door, hears all that quiet movement of people in his space (his), but it’s all right, he’s expecting them.

It’s Hermes who sticks his head through the bedroom door first, that slight grin that goes true and crinkles the corners of his eyes as he spots Dionysus, spots Ares resting against his chest. Dionysus puts a finger to his lips, keeps petting Ares’ hair.

It’s exhausting, keeping Ares down--a decade, Ares should know better.

(Dionysus should have kept better track of the time. It’s just… hard. For all of them, really. It’s been so long since they were making myths.)

Hermes slides onto the bed, sits cross legged next to him; then there’s Apollo, quieter, he won’t stay, he won’t have the time to stay, not really; and last, not least, never least, Aphrodite.

Dionysus’ bed is more than big enough to fit all of them, Hermes on one side, Apollo settled near the foot of the bed where the sun is spilling in from the window, Aphrodite on Dionysus’ other side.

“Let me, dear,” she says, and Dionysus stops petting, breathing out a sigh of relief. Aphrodite rests her hand against Ares’ cheek, and Dionysus pretends not to notice the way her eyes are just a bit damp. He feels that low level tension ease, feels Ares sigh and his sleep shift from dreamless to just--peaceful. Real rest, not drugged.

“Trade places?” he asks.

“Rather not risk waking him,” she says.

“How is he, this time?” Apollo asks.

“Wanted food, bit of a brat, not much fight really. Keeps drifting off a bit, nose tap works. Got him irritated, at least for a little while.”

“That’s no so bad,” Hermes says.

“I didn’t ask about inviting you guys,” Dionysus admits. “So he’s probably going to be pissed about that. Though you got here quick, we got hours till moonrise.”

“That’s fine,” Apollo says.

(What Dionysus wouldn’t give for one of Ares and Apollo’s arguments again, the least relaxing thing in the world, every time, absolutely terrifying until Dionysus realized that was just how those two got along, somehow.)

“Seems like a good time for a nap,” Hermes says. “I’m going to see what’s in your fridge.”

“There’s delivery on the way,” Dionysus says.

“Great, food, but I want a drink. Several. Many. Multitudes,” and then Hermes is gone, bedroom door shut behind him.

“You sure you don’t want to trade places?” Dionysus asks again.

“Maybe just this once. Be a dear and help,” Aphrodite says.

Ares very nearly almost wakes--his eyes slip open, just a bit--but then he’s resting against Aphrodite, Aphrodite wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his head, holding him.

“I should go,” Apollo says, quiet. Angry, but when hasn’t he been?

“It was good to see you.”

“Tell him…” Apollo trails off, shakes his head. “Something annoying.”

“No problem, man.”

And then Apollo’s gone, one blink to the next.

“I’ll save some food for you,” Dionysus promises.

“Thank you, Dio,” Aphrodite says, hair hiding her face.

Dionysus leaves, closes the door quiet, and goes to find Hermes in the kitchen, Hermes sorting through beers and wines.

“All these beers are terrible,” Hermes says. “Absolutely awful.”

“Sorry, man.” Dionysus hesitates. “She been doing all right?”

Hermes shrugs, uncorking a bottle of wine, drinking it straight from the bottle. “As well as she can be. Stays busy, you talk to her as much as I do. What do you think?”

“I think you spot lies better than I do.” Dionysus huffs, finds a wine glass. “At _least_ let it breathe, you’re not an animal.”

Hermes grins, takes the glass.

“Figured out our plan for the night?”

“Half of one.”

“That’s practically a whole one in my books, fill me in.”

Dionysus does while they wait for the food and Hermes, thank fates, has the grace to actually use the wine glass.

**

Dionysus has always liked a good chase. More of a prowl really, and a pounce, a surprise--still. Clears the head, exciting, gets the blood moving in a way that Dionysus really isn’t inclined to except when it makes him want to grin and bare fangs.

Chasing Ares down was not a good chase.

It was days, weeks--figuring out which conflict he was mired in, driving him out, driving him somewhere they could _catch_ him, losing track of him, doing it again, until finally they got him where they wanted.

Ares wasn't--well he was, was the problem, too _much_. Legion, multitude, ill-inclined to be found; they knew all that, _Dionysus_ knew all that, but it was another thing running through the last of the old woods, following smell and sound. Prowling after, waiting, tracking the scent of blood.

A yelp, high pitched as a hound being kicked; Apollo, irked, bow in hand and a dead wolf at his feet already fading.

More blood.

Dionysus, following that trail and splatter slow, silent--silent as the woods around them.

Dionysus isn't a communal hunter--he's not Ares sort of beast. He waited, still, listened to the silence. Listened to starfire shriek as Apollo drove Ares back into the wood, listened.

Waited.

Breath, pained, beneath--pounced.

He landed square on Ares from above, shape already twisting--it should have been easy to pin him down.

Ares twisted under him, shape blurring, violence exploding outwards--Ares, not savage desire to survive but _rabid_ , teeth and fang and claw all tearing at Dionysus bearing down on him, pushing up and back, sending them both rolling across the ground, both scrabbling for purchase.

Dionysus sank fangs into a neck, felt Ares trying to split apart again, unfold, and clawed--where the _hell_ was Hermes--tried to grapple and push and shove Ares off, onto his back—

starfire shriek, wolf howl of agony, Ares knocked off and Dionysus bounced up, blood spilling everywhere, and pounced again, pinned Ares down, grabbed the arrow in his side and _twisted_.

"'Scuse me," and finally, there was Hermes, glint of chain in hand and one hand fisting in fur, "got him, got him, move."

Dionysus snarled, then choked as Apollo grabbed him by the scruff, yanked back.

Breathed, made himself pull it _together_ , mostly him-shaped, teeth still a little too sharp. Checked the bites and claw marks on skin, still leaking blood.

Tried not to focus too much on Ares, bound, writhing between what shapes he could, still rabid, snarling. Trying to pull free of the chains binding his arms behind his back, exhausting himself for a moment, going still, only to try again, fur and fang and claw.

"You sure about this?" Hermes asked, looking up as Aphrodite joined them.

"Yes," Aphrodite said. "Move."

"He won't recognize you," Apollo warned, not the first time, Hermes staying still.

"I almost feel like I must have stuttered," Aphrodite said; Hermes moved back, reluctant.

Aphrodite stepped forward, walked careful around Ares, laying on his side, breath heaving. Eyes following her, low growl and teeth bared; that yank of chain as she stepped forward and knelt by his head.

Aphrodite didn't flinch, when his shape twisted, when fang sank into her arm; she didn't even cry out. Just looked at red eyes focused on her, pet a form that wasn't sure what it wanted to be, and slowly, Ares let go. A whine, shape starting to settle, just a little.

"There, there, dear. I know you're upset. And tired, goodness, you must be so tired."

Ares licked his lips, another whine. A shiver.

"Dionysus, your cup," Aphrodite said.

Dionysus went over, cautious. Made sure Ares could see him, but didn't flinch back from the low growl, the start of a snarl.

"How's your arm?" Dionysus asked, handing over his cup.

"I'll be fine," Aphrodite said. "We needed the blood anyway."

Let the blood mix with wine.

"Get his mouth open for me?"

"Yeah, of course," Dionysus said. He closed the last distance to Ares--always a big guy, Ares, but right then just.

Awkward.

"Hey, man," Dionysus said, "we got ya. Don't you worry, you'll be feeling like yourself in no time."

Ares tried to bite him anyway; Dionysus shoved his hand in, pressed his thumb down hard on Ares' tongue, fingers digging into his jaw; Ares choked, gagged, whined high and alarmed, tried to shrink back.

"None of that," Dionysus said. "Come on, you know better." He tapped Ares' nose, made him startle, and let go.

Ares quiet as Dionysus pulled him on his lap, got him mostly on his back, cupped his jaw. Soothed it like he had a hundred times, slipped calm in his veins as he felt panic and fury starting to mount again.

It still took all of them to hold him down, force his mouth open, when Ares realized they wanted him to drink.

But War's always been a thirsty thing, and once he'd started he drank and drank and drank. Went still, eyes glazed, went _solid_ and Ares-shaped, stable.

Not controlled, but. Better.

"There, was that so hard?" Aphrodite asked, petting one of his cheeks.

Ares swallowed, blinking.

"Dite?" he asked; tugged at the chains he was still in, eyes moving dazed over the rest of them. "Where--"

Noticed the blood on Aphrodite's forearm, the bite mark, going silent. Tensing, so much tension he started to shake, and Dionysus eased him up, let Hermes get to the chains, get them off.

"It's all right, Ares," Aphrodite said as they let him go, pulling him into her arms, pulling his face to her chest as he shook, as that first aching cry tore free, then another. "Really, dear, it truly is." She shushed him, pressed her face to his hair as he held onto her, as he sobbed apologies that turned to whines and bit back screams. "It's all right now, love. I've got you. We all do, sh. We know, dear, it's been so hard, hasn't it? All of this, we know. You're still yourself, darling, we won't let you lose that, it's all right."

They weren't, aren't, any of them Ares' kind of beast; it would have made Olympus lonely, except Ares knew what he was and found people anyway. Tested, played, prodded and pushed until they bent, just a bit, to be what he needed, gave up a little of his own ground for it. They aren't any of them wolves, but he's theirs. They sat with Aphrodite as Ares grieved, pressed close, pet his shoulders, touched him, because he's a physical thing, Ares, creature comfort thing. Got the arrows out of his skin, helped him bandage Aphrodite's arm, got him to his feet and to Dionysus' bed, and all of them stripped, skin to skin, pressing him between them back into himself until he fell asleep, the first sleep he'd likely had in too long.

"It will get worse," Apollo said, ever a ray of sunshine.

"We'll figure it out," Aphrodite said, sure.

They did, have, for the most part.

"Hey, you're up," Dionysus says as the bedroom door opens, as Ares slouches out rubbing his face, and Aphrodite follows, pleased. "We got food, plenty left, Hermes eats like a bird."

"Ha," Hermes says, helping himself to more wine. The regular kind. "Almost time to go, hurry up you two."

"Go?" Ares asks, settles on the couch between Dionysus and Hermes. Dionysus wraps an arm around his shoulders while Aphrodite inspects food, grabs a bag of danishes and settles on one of Ares' legs, Hermes draping a leg over his other.

"We've got _options_ ," Dionysus says.

"And half a plan," Hermes adds, drinking directly from the bottle again and grinning at Dionysus as he does it.

"Eat," Aphrodite says, offering a danish, and Ares does.

**

They end up, eventually, after a very meandering night that probably involved several crimes as far as modern mortals count them, a great deal of laughter, and enough food to feed several armies, on a rooftop, watching a sunrise, Ares draped around Aphrodite and slumped into Dionysus' side, Hermes walking on the edge of the rooftop.

"Oh right," Dionysus says. "Nearly forgot, Apollo said--"

"You're an idiot," Apollo finishes, grabbing Hermes by the back of his shirt before he falls.

"Prat," Ares says, grin warming the words. Himself.

"That, too," Apollo says, and settles on his other side as Ares sits up, Aphrodite stirring and waking and stretching in his arms.

"Apollo, how good to see you, we were _just_ going to head back."

"We were?" Dionysus asks at the same time as Hermes.

"Yes," Ares says. "We were."

**

It is just past noon when Ares wakes. He does not move, does not immediately open his eyes. He listens to the steady rhythm of Aphrodite's heart, temple against her breastbone. Listens to Dionysus' lazy breathing. Listens to Hermes half-snoring.

Apollo is gone again, but that is not a surprise.

Ares keeps his eyes closed. Listens. Focuses on the feel of skin against his, focuses on pulses and heartbeats, on feeling only, for as long as he can, this.

Does not think of war.

Wants to.

He is so hungry. It is crawling up his throat, eating the back of his teeth.

He thinks of wolves. Thinks of birds in flight. Starts to think of vultures cracking bones for marrow, thinks of Thanatos again, which leads to wondering how he managed so long, which leads back to war, which is not what he will think about, here.

He is tired. He thinks of that, instead.

"Hey," Dionysus says, broad hand resting on his face, and Ares finally opens his eyes. "Brunch?"

Ares nods, slight; breathes out as sensation dulls--hunger, noise, thought.

Peace, or something like it.

"Up," Dionysus says, then wakes Hermes and Aphrodite. All of them stirring, rising, getting dressed. Hands at his wrists, his shoulders, his waist. Little things to focus on. Sunlight on skin, birds, walking here and now and only now, only here. Their laughter.

It is not a victory feast, not like the old days, but, he thinks, smiling, thinking of things that are not war, it is close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, forever and always, even if this time it was just a slow slide into an emotional wasteland <3 <3


End file.
